Delectable Delicacies
by Secunda Valeria
Summary: In the summer of 1932, Tom and Mary's six year old twins are in trouble with the downstairs staff - again.


Delectable Delicacies

_Summer, 1932_

Carson never came to her sitting room at mid-day. The man would have sooner gnawed his arm off. "I'm sorry My Lady, but I must inform you that Masters Kieran and Matthew are in quite a state."

Annoyed, Mary put down the magazine. "What kind of 'state' now?" She hadn't finished the essay by a man named Orwell. "Carson, six year olds are forever getting into states."

At that time Nanny burst into the room; her face flushed from rushing the stairs. "I'm sorry milady; the boys were playing on their own time." The girl was too nervous with an emotion that lay somewhere between embarrassment and fear.

Mary spread her hands. "Calm down Nanny. What's happened?" She was used to this: HIS twins. Undoubtedly they had upset Downton's staid, predictable day. She rose from the sofa, calm, curious, not frightened.

Carson invited her to follow. "Words cannot describe the youngsters My Lady. This way please." He led the short column out of her sitting room puffing and huffing down the stairs.

Mary asked him again what was wrong.

"Words fail my lady. I cannot describe it. You must see for yourself." Carson answered, visibly flustered.

Mary jumped ahead. "They're hurt?" She would have panicked but learned long ago it accomplished nothing.

Carson held up a restraining hand. "No, no they are quite well, too well actually, but Alfred has them confined to the courtyard. They were attempting to sneak in the back." Carson's stentorian resonance echoed through the halls.

They rushed through the corridors: Mary, Carson, and Nanny.

Mary reached the courtyard where Alfred barred the entrance. A severe pout contorted his face. With his arms folded across his chest, he looked like a Coldstream Guardsman.

In front of him Kieran and Matthew were coated in mud, from the tops of their red heads, to the soles of their shoes. The only thing that distinguished them as hers, were their eyes. While identical to the rest of the world, Mary and Tom easily discerned one from the other. Matthew's eyes favored his; Kieran's hers. Her first urge was to throw a fit of anger; they had just been fitted for these suits. But when she saw the way they stood, sheepishly studying her, the whites of their teeth breaking the mud-cased faces in tentative smiles, she almost collapsed into a rush of laughter.

They were his sons alright, possessing an indomitable energy that could never be molded, or restrained. What need had she ever had, to go looking in America for someone to shake things up at Downton, when he was here all along? Gazing into their faces her heart stirred: '_We made these two_.' She granted herself a moment, relishing her devotion to him, and his to her.

She turned away fast to suppress a burst of laughter, brushing the back of her hand across her mouth, as if a physical act could reset her emotions for the duty ahead.

She turned about sharply, hands on her hips. "What in the world? You're filthy." She glared from Kieran to Matthew, Matthew to Kieran. "What were you doing?"

Kieran bowed his head. "We were playing trenches mother."

"But not by the pond, we were crawling in the creek." Matthew added.

"We remembered that you and father do not want us near the pond." Kieran hoped this explanation would prevent punishment.

Mary caught Carson's eyes long enough to see that he disapproved. She leaned in to whisper to him. "I hope I'm not too disappointing."

He cleared his throat to suppress a grumble.

Mary turned her head slightly. "Nanny, fetch towels and soap." She turned to the boys. "Against the wall you two, take off your clothes. Alfred will hose you down. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You live in Downton Abbey. You are the Grandson's of the Seventh Earl of Grantham, and brothers to the Eighth. I expected more of you. Shouldn't I have Carson?"

The old Butler straightened. "Yes my lady. Master Kieran and Master Matthew should always remember that the decorum of this house must always be observed."

Matthew turned around from the wall. "But mother, father says we're also the grandsons of a proud Irish Patriot…"

"…and to never hold ourselves better than any other man." Kieran finished.

"Enough!" Mary held up a hand. She loved Matthew's honesty.

Carson coughed again as if exhorting Mary to buck-up.

Just then she recalled the night her intuition told her she had conceived. The night she and Tom held on to one another as if it were the last night of the world, and their last earthly act, one of love. Her face softened, she squatted to face them, trying to be stern. "Be that as it may, you must never play trenches again in your day clothes, or in coveralls, or rags. It is horrible to play anyway, your uncle Matthew, Thomas, and many more here, suffered greatly in them. Now you have created much more work for Katrina, who does your laundry. When you're cleaned, and changed, you will apologize to her. We apologize when we are wrong, don't we?"

"Mother, Aunt Edith says the washer machine has liberated women from the drudgery of endless hours of meaningless work." Kieran began.

"I said you will apologize." Mary raised her voice all the while fighting to keep from laughing at how Kieran remembered the exact words an adult said.

"Yes mother." Kieran and Matthew said together, their heads bowed.

Nanny appeared in the doorway with half a dozen towels and a bar of soap.

Mary handed the soap to Alfred. "Wash their hair too." She took a breath and addressed Carson. "When is Mr. Branson to return?"

"Mr. Branson and his Lordship will return in time to change for dinner." Carson looked forward to how the radical turned businessman would handle this. "Shall I inform him of the event?"

Mary took a towel and wrapped it around her waist like an apron. "No. That's fine. I'll speak with my husband. Please tell Katrina I am sorry, we've added to her work. It's unfair I know." She turned to her boys. "Now you two, I don't know what your father will say but you shall have none of Mrs. Mason's honey or jam for a week."

The regret in their eyes hurt her. The thought of going without Daisy's jellies on their toast for a whole week saddened them more than any soapy, cold shower could (Later that week Sybbie and Whim conspired, plotted, and relieved the prohibition suffered by their brothers, yet that is another tale for another time).

Alfred turned the water hose on the twins who squeezed their eyes tightly shut, to keep soap suds out, as he and Nanny lathered and scrubbed them.

In their room later, dressing for dinner, Tom only smiled when Mary told him what happened. "Well, they followed our rules." He laughed as he fixed his collar.

"At least they did that." Mary agreed while adjusting the necklace over her black dress.

At dinner Lady Cora chuckled when Mary recounted the story of the episode in the courtyard. "Reminds me of a headstrong six year old herself, doesn't it Robert?"

Lord Grantham sipped his wine then set the glass down. "A dangerous combination, if you ask me, Irish passion and English stubbornness. No telling the trouble those two will get into."

"Or the heights they will reach." Cousin Isobel offered.

Cora raised her glass of wine to Tom, then Mary, "Here, here."

When dinner was finished, and the others had retreated to the conservatory, Tom and Mary climbed the stairs to the boy's room. They stepped in as the boys were finishing their prayers. Mary paused a moment to take in an image of two cherubs on their knees.

"…and bless Aunt Sybil and Uncle Matthew. Amen." They ended with the sign of the cross.

Tom positioned himself between their beds on a stool. He wrapped an arm around each one, gathering them close to his sides. Downstairs the pianos in the conservatory rang from the duet Sybbie and Whim played for their Grandparents; Dr. and Isobel Clarkson, and Cora and Robert.

Tom looked from one to the other. "Now my darlings, your mother told me all about your day. I want you to listen to her."

"But father, you said it was good for a man to get his hands dirty once in a while." Kieran pointed out.

Tom smiled. "This is true, but by work."

"Since we're children isn't play our work?" Matthew observed.

Tom was so befuddled for an answer he stuttered. He looked at Mary who shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows as if to say, '_well you brought it up_.'

Tom frowned. "Now look. Your mother and I want you to act like proper gentlemen. You must, and you will." Tom squeezed the boys.

"But you want us to have fun too." Kieran said.

"Of course I do, but not when that means more work for someone." Tom kissed the red tops of Kieran and Matthew's heads.

"Can't we wait to be proper gentlemen?" Matthew asked as Tom tucked him in.

"No you cannot. She is your mother. I love her very much, and it is something she wants from you, and I expect it of you."

"Why do you love her very much father?" This from Matthew.

"Because she saved my life once." Tom looked at Mary as she stepped to Matthew's bed.

"Were you drowning?" Kieran asked.

"Sort of." Tom rubbed Kieran's head.

Mary stepped to Matthew's bed. "And I love your father very much." She kissed Matthew then crossed to Kieran.

"Mother what is del, del-ec-kat-able?" Kieran tried the word as Mary folded the covers under his chin.

"What?" Mary cocked her head.

"He means delectable." Tom clarified, his face turning a slight pink.

Kieran shook his head in agreement.

"Where have you heard such a word?"

"Father says he listens to you because you have del-kat-able delicacies…" Kieran began.

"…and that someday, we too, will know the wonders of a wo…"

"Stop it." Mary clipped. A wry smile turned her lips. "Go to sleep." She threw Tom a doubtful look when he took her hand to lead her from the room.

As she turned off the lights Mary looked back on the boys. "Good night my princes of Downton…"

"…and my Irish patriots." Tom finished.

Later, as Mary climbed into their bed she laughed. "Are we really parents to the most precocious six year olds in all Britain?" She rolled close to him.

"I'd have it no other way." Tom winked, one hand exploring her hip.

Mary searched the contours of his face within her cupped hands. "And just what are those 'delectable delicacies' you speak of to our sons?" She stirred as he traced the length of her thigh with a fingertip.

"Here" He pressed his lips close to hers.

"Oh," she slowly exhaled, before her lips met his.

##


End file.
